


the devil is a woman

by corleones



Category: The Basic Eight - Daniel Handler
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corleones/pseuds/corleones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cylon!AU. In a way, it does not come as a shock; after all, she has always thought of Natasha as a series of fictions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the devil is a woman

In a way, it does not come as a shock. After all, she has always thought of Natasha as a series of fictions, a contraption of layers, one lie coating the other, the sum of them worn close to her skin. At the most, she feels a sudden flip in her stomach, the turning key of deception.

So, this is no smoke and mirrors; higher stakes than she'd thought but Natasha was always a game.

"So, what are the rules then?" she asks, letting Natasha press her back against the mattress, the cool silk of her nightdress sliding up Flan's thighs as she straddles her, "Can you feel?"

It is not meant to be quite as mocking as it sounds - the fingers still along the buttons of her blouse, the voice goes whispering over her ear, "Feel what then?" she husks, twisting her fingers between Flannery's legs, smirking as she gasps and bucks up her hips.

"I feel what anyone feels," she says later, tying a robe around her body in front of a sunlight window, "Any set of flesh and blood and bones."

The cigarette ash falls on her skin, deliberate. Flan finds herself waiting for the flinch.

-

The rules of warfare as Flan knows them involve keeping your head down and waiting for the end.

There is nothing in that guidebook about prayers or sleeping with the enemy.

-

The afternoon of the second invasion, they watch Dietrich in bed. The television channels are probably showing footage of the taken colony but they are playing Shanghai Express instead, tangling limbs in between the sheets and Natasha traces one manicured finger over the line of her hip, "we could start an alliance based on this."

"Sex?"

"What else?" she asks, archly, cigarette dangling from her lips.

Still three months after the revelation, Flan finds it difficult to believe - Natasha is bones and movie star smiles, dark eyes and painted lips. She is the wolf at the door in a red dress, all teeth but it is difficult to find enemy lines in a bedroom, difficult to find that disconnect between their bodies that should exist now that they are who they are, not lovers but Cylon and human. 

"What else, indeed."

She bites at her mouth, swallows the promise of danger.

-

On the ship, she reads Plath in her bunker at night, she closes her eyes and the world drops dead and when she opens them there is only Natasha, Natasha and her curves waiting in the galleys, veiled from the world.

"What am I what am I doing?" she wonders, through messes of limbs and mouths.

"They're going to think you're talking to yourself," Natasha hisses, curling her fingers around her arm like vice, anxious and breathless.

She traces the words to Mad Girl's Love Song into Natasha's invisible skin with her tongue.

-

The newspapers will deem it suicide not murder.

The gun shows no finger prints at all.


End file.
